


Bonded

by ClaireBHypno



Series: Bonded [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Bonding, Broken John, M/M, Mpreg, Omega John, Omega Verse, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaireBHypno/pseuds/ClaireBHypno
Summary: John and Sherlock are childhood friends, and when Sherlock has to go away to school, they decided to bond to ensure they can stay together.  Because they are young, and do not know that sex is a part of the bonding process, the bite appears to be harmless, and events that follow on lead to both boys forgetting their attempt.Years later, John and Sherlock come together again as flatmates, but neither realises the other is the boy he knew from childhood.  John's heats have always been suppressed because of his pseudo-bond with Sherlock, but he has always simply thought he is broken.  Sherlock has always been asexual, but proximity to his bonded Omega sets fire to his libido, and it is only a matter of time until the two of them will end up in bed... triggering the rest of the bonding process.





	1. Chapter 1

> Please take note of the tags; as I post Chapter 1, I haven't quite finished writing, so it is entirely possible the rating and tags will change.
> 
> *****
> 
> Some notes on my personal version of the Omegaverse:
> 
> Bonding is a two-part process, it takes both the sex and the bite for a bond to fully establish. Sex on its own doesn't trigger any part of the bonding process, but a bite on the bonding gland primes the way, if you like.
> 
> Bonded Omegas (and partially bonded ones) who are away from their Alphas experience a disruption in their heat as a kind of precaution against other Alphas taking an interest. Other Alphas who attempt to mate with a bonded or partially bonded Omega will experience a feeling of extreme revulsion and the need to get away.
> 
> *****  
> 

1983

John Watson had been crawling through the gap in the high stone wall at the bottom of his road for about two years now. His friend William lived in the big house that the wall was boundary to, along with his Mummy and Daddy and his big brother Mike. At seven, William wasn’t as old as John, who was ten, but where John had inherited his dad’s short stature, William was tall and willowy, so people might mistake them for being the same age. Today, the boys were hiding down by the large pond, with a rather dirty jam jar that they were planning to use to catch tadpoles. John didn’t quite believe William when he said the small black wriggly creatures would turn into frogs, so William had suggested they catch some and take them home where John could watch them and find out for himself.

They had both taken off their shoes and socks, and were standing knee deep in the muddy water, nets in hand, looking for tadpoles. They weren’t having any luck mainly because it was the middle of August and the tadpoles had all developed into frogs and toads already, although neither boy realised this. While they were searching, they returned to an old subject they had discussed before.

“Are you sure you have to go away to school, William? Can’t you come to my school, and then we can still play together?” William shook his curly head sadly; he had tried asking Mummy again last night, but she had snapped at him in the tone of voice he knew meant that he should drop the subject, and quickly. Mummy in a temper was A Bit Not Good. He had considered raising the subject with Daddy, but he would only defer to Mummy, and William didn’t want to risk her turning absolutely monstrous if she were to find out he had tried to go behind her back. All in all, he had sighed and decided to stick it out at boarding school for a year. When he turned eight, he would broach the subject again, as obviously he would be nearly grown up and Mummy and Daddy would have to listen to what he had to say. In the meantime, he privately admitted to himself that he was quite looking forward to it, Mike had told him lots of funny stories about things that he had got up to in his first few years. Midnight snack runs to the kitchen sounded like super fun, William’s parents had already found out there wasn’t a cupboard they could keep him out of if he had a mind to get in there.

“I’ll ask my mum to talk to her,” John said confidently, “she’ll get your mum to send you to my school. Or maybe I can come to your school instead?” William didn’t think John’s mum would even get to talk to his, she was always so busy with her writing and her charity work, but it was a nice idea, so he smiled happily at John, and they carried on with the fruitless task.

2016

John Watson. Doctor John Watson. Captain- No, not captain. Not any more. He sat with his head in his hands, the gun he’d managed somehow to bring home there on the desk in front of him. Every day he made this same decision; whether today was the day to die or not; whether today, the bad parts of his life would finally outweigh the good. Every day, he contemplated what his life had become, and somehow, he found the will to live for another 24 hours. John’s thoughts ran over his usual list of his own positive and negative attributes. On the positive side: doctor – able to save lives. Soldier – loyal, fought for Queen and country. Brother – Harry depended on him. On the negative: no job, no career – the tremors that had caused him to be honourably discharged from the army also prevented him from working as a surgeon. Harry is an alcoholic, her life becoming more and more ruined, no matter what John tries to do to help her. And the final icing on the cake, John has never had a proper Omega heat his entire life, not since he presented at the age of twelve. John felt that was his biggest failing; not only could he no longer do the things he had trained to do, but he couldn’t do the thing he was born to do either. He would never be able to have children, and no Alpha would ever want him. After long moments of contemplation, John sighed, stripped down the gun, cleaned it and placed it back into the drawer, ready for the next day. As awful as his life had become, he still couldn’t quite muster up the courage to end it, but he felt it wouldn’t be long until he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes up with a scheme to ensure he and William can stay together.

2016

John walked back through Russell Square Gardens; his appointment with his therapist, Ella, had not gone well. She couldn’t seem to understand just how useless he felt and simply suggested finding a job as a GP, or maybe volunteering at a clinic somewhere. She didn’t understand that John had needed the Army at a visceral level; as a failed Omega, he had nowhere to direct his urges to look after an Alpha. None had wanted him, after all, they were all looking for a docile young Omega that they could breed, and John was none of those things. If he had been fertile, well maybe that would have been different, but barren, stubborn and into his 40s? He didn’t really stand a chance. At least being part of the brotherhood out in Afghanistan meant he could care for those who needed it most, and God knew there were plenty of them. And if he was able to provide other forms of comfort sometimes, well that was fine.

There were always plenty of horny servicemen looking for love… or a reasonable facsimile of it, anyway. John had tried going to them for help when his faux-heats came, but none of them were ever willing to go through it with him. There was something about John that had put them off; a scent, or a feeling, nobody was ever really sure, just sure enough to turn him down and leave him with a frustrating and indefinable ache. John sometimes felt resentful about it; his mouth was fine for a quick blowjob behind the mess tent when one of them had had a near miss and wanted to reaffirm his vitality, but nobody was ever willing to put themselves out on John’s behalf. He’d managed to curb that feeling most of them time, it was a slippery slope from that kind of resentment to deciding that if they weren’t willing to help a guy out, then neither were you… and given John was a doctor, it would amount to professional suicide.

Since he had been back in the UK, John had tried to find an Alpha to help him out, even going so far as to try the online matching services. It had gone well to start with; he’d found someone who seemed to all intents and purposes to be compatible with him. They had shared a love of music, read many of the same books, and John had recommended some that Matt hadn’t read, but had instantly fallen in love with, buying the author’s complete works. They laughed together too, over stupid re-runs of Top Gear, or the bad “dad jokes” Matt’s dad emailed to him, which he then told John. All had been well until John had texted Matt that his heat was starting. Matt had dropped everything and come running, as promised, and John had been looking forward to having someone to share his heat with at last. Matt had only taken two steps into John’s bedroom before his face twisted into a grimace, and he had covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow and run. John had received a text two days later, saying that Matt didn’t feel they were compatible after all, and any attempts to contact him had been fruitless. John suspected Matt had blocked his number, but he couldn’t imagine why. That had been the first day he had pulled the gun from the drawer, and tried to find a reason not to use it. Since then, John’s heats had been sad and lonely affairs, conducted by himself in the privacy of his bedsit. He didn’t even try to find someone to share his life with any more, the few days of fun wasn’t worth the crippling agony of rejection when another heat hit him.

1983

John sat with his legs dangling either side of the tree branch, watching a line of ants marching over it industriously on their way to some unknown destination. He risked a quick glance up at William, who was busy drawing a leaf in as much detail as he could. William had said it was for a “data base”, which John had been quite excited about because he imagined it would be full of baddies he could fight, but it was nothing like the rebel base in Star Wars, so he had quickly lost interest.

“William…” John said, in the voice he used when he was trying to persuade his mum it would be fine if he didn’t have a bath tonight, or that he could eat the rest of the sweets in the bag without being sick, or that it would be perfectly safe for him to camp out in the woods overnight by himself. It rarely worked on his mum, but William hadn’t had as much experience at resisting it as she had.

“Yes John?”

“I know how we can stop them sending you away to school,” John said, slyly. Sherlock’s eyes bored into John’s, his attention totally focussed on the older boy. “My mum’s friend came over yesterday, and I heard them talking while I was getting some biscuits.” John had long realised the best time to sneak biscuits from the kitchen was while his mum was having a coffee and catch up with one of her friends; for a start she was less likely to notice John sneaking around, and if she did happen to catch him, she was more likely to indulge him and call him a cheeky monkey if there was company, than to tell him off.

“Well? What did they say?” Sherlock asked eagerly.

“Auntie Sam was talking about some Omega friend of theirs being bonded, and she said for mum not to expect to see her for months because she’d be with her Alpha. That must mean they can’t be taken away from each other, right?” William considered this for a moment. It seemed reasonable to him, there wasn’t any other reason he could think of why an Omega and an Alpha would WANT to spend so much time in each other’s company, therefore it must be a biological necessity.

“How do you do it? Bonding?” William asked. He’d never really paid that much attention to that kind of thing, he wasn’t very interested in other people, apart from John. John’s eyes widened a little as he replied.

“You have to bite each other. On the “bondy land”, on the neck,” John explained breathlessly, pointing at the spot. John had been listening through a partially open door, so couldn’t be entirely certain, but he was pretty sure that’s what they had said. Auntie Sam and his mum had compared their bonding bites, giggling, in a friendly game of one-upmanship over whose Alpha had been the most passionate at the start of their relationship. Sam had won when she’d shown John’s mum the ragged and chewed mess her Alpha had made of her bonding gland when he’d bitten her in the throes of passion.

“Okay,” William said, shuffling closer along the branch. John turned his head to the side, and William’s surprisingly sharp teeth bit down hard, releasing a squirt of fluid into his mouth. It didn’t taste good like William’s favourite vanilla milkshake, but it wasn’t awful either. “Now your turn,” he said, yanking at the collar of his shirt and pulling it down to expose the gland. John bit down just as hard as William had; in truth he was a little annoyed, it had hurt more than he was expecting, and William’s little yelp as the skin broke made John feel a bit better. As William yelped, he pulled himself sharply away from John, causing the older boy to wobble, overbalance, and finally tumble from the branch. Luckily for John, it wasn’t a long fall, but there were enough sharp twigs to poke and scratch at him on the way down that he ended up covered in scratches and grazes by the time he thumped onto the soft ground under the tree. William scrambled down quickly, worried for his friend, but after a moment or two it looked as though John was fine, if a little dazed and winded.

“You’d better go home John,” William said reluctantly. “Your mum will be cross with you if you get blood all over your t-shirt again.” John sighed moodily, knowing William was right. It was to be their last day together – until it became obvious to everyone that their bond had taken, that was. John pulled himself up from the ground, his skin sore all over, and reluctantly said goodbye to William.

“I wonder if they’ll take me to you, or if you’ll come to me?” he said curiously.

“They’ll have to bring you to me, I have too many experiments to be able to leave them to come to your house. Anyway, my house is bigger,” William responded confidently. “I expect I’ll see you in a couple of days, before I go off to school.”

The two boys parted company, William heading up to the big house, determined to be in place when John’s mum came to bring him. When he got there, however, there had been a delivery of the last few things he needed to pack into his trunk to take away with him, and amongst them was a well-equipped chemistry set. Not a baby one, with stupid harmless so-called experiments like making a volcano using baking soda and vinegar, but proper graduated beakers and pipettes and test-tubes. William was immediately lost in it, and what with the rest of the packing, and the teasing from Mike, the events of that afternoon promptly deleted themselves from his memory.

John’s memories lasted only a little longer; he walked straight into an argument between his mum and his dad, who had come home drunk from the pub again having spent the money John’s mum had given him there, instead of taking it to the supermarket to get the chicken thighs for dinner. On top of that, John’s older sister Harry had been caught sneaking a bottle of cheap whiskey from the cupboard, so she was in a corner of the room screeching her own two-penny worth into the general din. John tried to sneak upstairs without being seen so he could change his clothes, and maybe delay the telling off he was sure to get, but unfortunately he was spotted, and the noise ratcheted up another level. His mum grabbed a wet flannel and scrubbed at all the marks she could see, all the while yelling at John’s dad and Harry, while John winced and tried to make himself as small as possible. When his mum started yelling about the amount of money it cost to replace John’s clothes, and why couldn’t he go two days without ruining another t-shirt, after she’d just spent all that money on his school uniform, John thought it best not to mention just yet that he was now bonded and wouldn’t be going to school and wearing any of that expensive uniform. It was a conversation for another, quieter day, he felt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock meet again, but neither realise he already knows the man Mike introduces him to...
> 
> Special thanks to Ariane DeVere for her brilliant transcriptions of the Sherlock episodes.

2016

As John walked through the gardens on his way back to his grotty bedsit, he was thinking about his options. The way he saw it, he could either get one of the mind-numbing jobs Ella had talked about – assuming any of the surgeries would be willing to employ him; many had rather old-fashioned ideas about what an Omega should and should not do – or he should start to look at moving out of London. The army pension was enough to live on, provided you were only alive for two weeks out of every four, and moving out of London would make it stretch further. As he limped along, lost in thought, he found himself snapping around at the mention of his name, the soft-spoken Geordie accent cutting through his reverie.

“John! John Watson!” John turned back to see a familiar looking face that he couldn’t immediately put a name to.

“Stamford! Mike Stamford! We were at Bart’s together.” At his words, John recognised the face before him. They had spent more than a few nights studying together in the wee small hours; Mike was an open-minded Beta who didn’t mind spending time with a broken Omega, and talking through the different modules they had studied had lead to a greater understanding for both of them.

The two men shook hands, and after a little reminiscing, agreed to go for a coffee. Thirty minutes or so later found the two of them outside the door to one of the labs in Bart’s. John was struck by how different things were from his student days, but he reasoned it had been more than ten years since he had last been there. He made a small joke about it; it was something to say, and he was still trying to get back into the easy camaraderie he had once shared with Mike. He hardly noticed the tall slim man working at one of the lab tables, assuming him to be one of the current batch of students. It was only when the man spoke that John realized he was a little older than he had thought.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.” John was immediately struck by how attractive the man’s voice was; like chocolate, or some sort of lithe, muscular big cat, if cats could talk. Mike was obviously more used to it, John thought, that or his fondness for rock concerts in his youth had done some damage to Mike’s hearing.

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked, in a voice that hinted of exasperation; this was apparently not the first time they had had this conversation.

“I prefer to text,” the man responded.

“Sorry. It’s in my coat.” John privately thought that Mike didn’t sound sorry in the least. He didn’t know what prompted him - it was almost beyond his control - but John offered up his own phone.  
“Here, use mine.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Mike introduced John, but didn’t give the man’s name. John thought it a little odd, but forgot almost immediately when the man spoke again.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” For John, it was almost like the feeling of being drunk. He knew both of the words that had been spoken, had spoken them both himself on any number of occasions, but for a few moments, he didn’t understand what either of them meant. Mike gave a slightly smug smile, but didn’t say anything.

“Sorry?” 

This time the man condescended to look at him. “Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?” John was struck with a wave of confusion; he was certain he hadn’t mentioned his military service to this man, yet he seemed to be carrying on a conversation John didn’t remember being part of. How else would he know about the army? Unless… Yes, Mike must have mentioned it, perhaps a text when John had popped into the loo on the way up to the lab? John glanced over at Mike, and his grin seemed to confirm John’s suspicions.

“Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know...?” At that moment, a petite young lady in a lab coat came in with a cup of coffee; John could smell it from where he stood and it reminded him of the stuff that came out of the percolator in his student digs. It was always as thick and as black as tar because nobody could ever agree on whose turn it was to clean the thing out.

“Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.” The man handed back John’s phone, immediately speaking to the girl with the coffee cup, rather than thanking John for the use of his phone. It wasn’t as though he had vast amounts of phone credit to play with, John thought, and a thank you from that man with that voice might have been nice…

“What happened to the lipstick?” Ahh, there was the kicker, John thought. He’d been waiting for one, it turned out to be that the gorgeous man wasn’t into male Omegas, but petite female Betas.

“It wasn’t working for me,” she replied, nervously.

“Really?” he responded, in a tone of voice that sounded surprised. “I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too… small now.” John watched as the man dismissed the petite brunette, sipping from the mug and making a face. John made a mental note that although many things might have changed at Bart’s, the coffee hadn’t. The woman, Molly, was it? left the room, muttering to herself.

“How do you feel about the violin?” It took a moment for John to realise that tall dark and handsome was talking to him, it was Mike’s smug smile that clued him in.

“I’m sorry, what?” John wasn’t sure what the question had to do with the price of fish; it certainly didn’t seem to bear any relevance to any other conversation that had been going on, and now the man wasn’t even looking in his direction, but typing rapidly on a computer. John couldn’t help feeling more than a little confused.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” John was even more confused now, he hadn’t said anything at all about looking for a flatmate… Oh, Mike must have mentioned it in the text he had sent earlier. John turned to Mike to confirm his suspicions.

“Oh, you ... you told him about me?”

“Not a word.” Mike grinned back at John, he was obviously enjoying this.

“Then who said anything about flatmates?” John hoped the face he was showing to the stranger wasn’t as confused looking as it felt to him on the inside. There was a sudden flurry of activity, the man grabbing a long dark coat and swirling into it, as he spoke again.

“ _I_ did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old Omega friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.” The man’s description of John jogged his memory again.

“How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?” The man ignored his question, it was as though John hadn’t spoken; it was both a familiar and frustrating reminder of how life could be for an Omega. He wrapped his scarf around his neck, flipping the ends through the loop, then picked up his mobile phone.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.” He continued to speak as he walked past John towards the door. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” He slipped the mobile phone into his pocket, and passed John on his way to the door. The casual dismissal irritated John, and he barely kept a lid on his anger as he turned to speak to the man.

“Is that it?"

The man turned back, looking at John as he spoke. “Is that what?"

“We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?”

“Problem?” John smiled incredulously, glancing over at Mike as though he might have some insight, before turning back to the man again.

“We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name.”

There was a moment’s pause before the man started speaking rapidly. “I know you’re an Omega Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he’s an Alpha who recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid.” John glanced down at the offending limb as the man continued to speak. “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” He turned back to the door, stepping outside, before seeming to remember something and poking his head back around the door again.

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street.” He gave a funny click and wink, looked at Mike and said, “afternoon,” then left.

It was obvious to John that this was a typical kind of event, as Mike just smiled and nodded to John, saying, “yeah, he’s always like that.” John wondered what was going to happen the next day, and he hadn’t even decided if he was going to go and meet the man yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock start to get used to life with each other, and both find themselves mysteriously drawn to the other...

Life with the Sherlock Holmes was interesting, to say the least. Their lovely Beta landlady, Mrs Hudson, had offered a second bedroom with an air of disbelief that John would actually use it. He hadn’t even decided to move in before Sherlock had cured his psychosomatic limp by dragging him all over London chasing a suspect that they hadn’t caught. When they had caught up with the suspect, John had shot him, rather than risk Sherlock taking a lethal poison pill to prove a point. It only occurred to John a few days later that he’d cleaned his gun without any thoughts of using it on himself – and that was a good thing. At last he’d got something to write about on his blog, even if he felt he was only peripheral to the action.

He found himself editing the way he wrote about Sherlock, and still managing to sound as though he was the man’s submissive little Omega, waiting at home for Sherlock to come home and eat the dinner he’d spent all day preparing. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, if John thought about it honestly, he did do all the cooking, all the cleaning – apart from the stuff Sherlock left all over the kitchen table, that was. After the first couple of weeks or so, John didn’t need to tell Sherlock to keep his experiments under control. The first time John asked him to please “do something about the bag of slime on the top shelf of the fridge, Sherlock, it’s contaminating the bacon,” Sherlock had just grunted and carried on dissecting the toes he had in front of him. John had left it for two more days, then, while Sherlock was still in bed, he had scooped every unattached body part he could find into a heavy duty plastic bag, then scooped _that_ into _another_ heavy duty plastic bag, and taken it back to Molly at Bart’s for proper disposal.

Sherlock had been furious, one of the bags in the fridge had contained an experiment he’d been running for a month, and which had been near fruition. John had calmly explained that if _he_ was still in charge of cleaning out the fridge, it would be happening twice a week, and anything Sherlock brought in that was not stored at the bottom of the fridge in airtight and properly labeled containers would be disposed of, no matter how important it was. If, on the other hand, Sherlock could see his way clear to help out with the cleaning… At that point, Sherlock had decided that perhaps he _could_ be persuaded to help out with a little bit of cleaning, and had sent Mrs Hudson out to buy more Tupperware boxes that would ever fit in the fridge. John had smirked a little at that, and mentally declared it a victory.

He had only had to declare war on the fridge once more since then, and as Sherlock had come rushing into the kitchen just after he had started, the fridge had been reorganized very quickly, with Sherlock even going so far as to clean out the inside with bleach, disinfectant, and hot water. John only had to rustle a couple of bin bags for Sherlock to come running now.

When John had gone into heat for the first time since moving into Baker Street, Sherlock had been abroad somewhere, on a mission for Mycroft. John hadn’t been able to come as he didn’t have the necessary clearance, and besides, Mycroft had provided a couple of agents with SAS training to keep Sherlock safe. John had phoned in to the clinic he’d managed to get some locum work with, then suffered through a wretched heat by himself, sweating and moaning in his bedroom with all the doors and windows tightly shut and locked to keep him safe from roaming Alphas. Mrs Hudson had been the only one who could get access to the flat, and even then, she couldn’t get into John’s room. Instead, she had left bottles of water and plates of biscuits for him – foods that were easy to nibble on during the few minutes of respite available to him. She had begged through the door for John to allow her to call Sherlock – “your Alpha should be here with you, John, not gallivanting around the world, it’s not right!” In his mindless and weakened state, John hadn’t been able to convince her that Sherlock wasn’t his Alpha. She respected his wishes though, grumbling disapprovingly when he told her that he was in contact with Sherlock every day. That much was true, but he neglected to mention that the contact was by text, and that he hadn’t mentioned his heat.

Sherlock arrived back at the flat two days after John’s heat was over. He sniffed the air, eyes narrowed and zeroing in on John, before declaring, “You’ve been in heat.” John had braced himself for more, but Sherlock had surprised him by merely asking, “Was everything okay?” John had nodded, feeling a little dumbfounded, and that had been the end of it. It was only a few days later that it had occurred to John that the timing of Mycroft’s mission had perhaps been a little convenient, and he wondered if that was actually the case or if he was getting a bit paranoid in his old age. He was reminded of a bumper sticker he used to see on an old MG when he was a kid – “It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you!” – and smiled ruefully.

The second time John’s heat had come on, it had been extremely unexpected – not only had John’s heats always been weak affairs compared to what some of his other Omega friends had described over the years, they were erratic too, and since John had had a heat only two months previously he hadn’t been expecting another one for at least a month yet. As luck would have it, John had been at Harry’s, making the most of what appeared to be a sober period in her life to reconnect, and she had immediately shoved him into her spare room and thrown a handful of Omega toys in his direction with a wry grin. “You know I haven’t had any need for these since Clara left, at least I can get a little satisfaction knowing you’re suffering on your own too!” John had thrown the lock on the door – Harry was his sister, but she was still an Alpha, and an Alpha with a drinking problem at that so he wasn’t taking any chances with her biology - and just got on with it.

Sherlock had replied to his text, and John had reluctantly acknowledged the wisdom of his words. Harry had done a pretty good job of caring for him, but John had still felt drained and confused when he had returned to Baker Street.

As usual, Sherlock had seemed to be able to read his mind, reassuring him that it was probably nothing more than the fact that John was sharing a flat with an unbonded Alpha that had had an unexpected effect on his cycle. John wasn’t so sure, but couldn’t think of anything else it could be, so he tried to put it out of his mind.

His third heat was stronger still; he had broken down and begged Sherlock to please do something. Sherlock’s response had been to flee the flat without a word and send Mike Stamford, red-faced and puffing, to John.

“John? Are you okay mate? Sherlock said there was an emergency- ” Mike had stopped abruptly just inside the flat, where John was curled up on the floor, sobbing and wretched. The kindly Beta had half carried John up the stairs to his room then helped him into bed, discreetly leaving as John had shed his clothes and climbed straight in as naked as the day he was born. Fifteen minutes later, Mike had popped his head back around John’s bedroom door, his arms full of easy to digest snacks, bottles of water and energy drinks, and a brown paper bag that turned out to contain a dildo that approximated an Alpha’s cock, complete with inflatable knot.

“I’ll let Sherlock know it’s just your heat, I daresay he panicked because as far as I know, he’s never been in a relationship with an Omega before you. I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he can, but that’ll keep you going in the meantime, okay? I’ll give you a call in a few days, see how you are,” and with that, Mike had left, securing the door behind him. John had felt so weak and wretched he hadn’t even been able to put Mike right about the nature of his relationship with Sherlock.

John had heard him have a quiet conversation with Mrs Hudson, and could guess at the content when her scandalized, “It’s not right!!” had floated up the stairs to him. It was a full five days before Sherlock returned, and another two days after that before John could look him in the eye.

*****

Sherlock was confused, and he didn’t like it. He had been curious about sex, and had done some experimenting at Uni with a quiet Beta girl from one of his Chemistry lectures, but had quickly discovered that kissing her did nothing for him, and he had no interest in going any further. He had tried again a year or so later, an Omega male, and although he had been a little more interested, he had been unable to get physically close to the man – something about him had sent Sherlock’s stomach reeling.

Since then, Sherlock had been alone. He’d had company in the sense of having people in his life, such as the gruff Alpha DI Lestrade, who was not as clever as Sherlock but still clever enough to know not to challenge him about the deductions he made. Then there was Molly, the pathologist at Bart’s, who Sherlock knew carried a torch for him despite him rebuffing several of her advances in a way that even she couldn’t misinterpret.

He’d met Mrs Hudson when Mycroft had sent him away to an American rehab facility, reasoning that if Sherlock didn’t know anybody in the country, he couldn’t bribe them to supply him with cocaine in rehab. Mrs Hudson had been serving a court mandated 60 days for possession of the marijuana she used to ease the ache from the healed breaks that had been a gift from her husband. Like Sherlock, she had resented being there, and he had immediately been drawn to her, the pair of them sneaking off instead of attending group therapy sessions. Mrs Hudson had explained her current predicament – husband running a drug cartel, his arrest for murdering one of his rivals, the imminent likelihood of his exoneration and release, resumption of the beatings to follow soon after his return home – and Sherlock had been incensed. He had asked Mycroft to help him to ensure Frank Hudson remained on death row until his execution date, and in return for Sherlock’s promise to give rehab his best shot, he had provided access to all the information Sherlock had needed to ensure the jury returned a guilty verdict, the ‘special relationship’ with America proving useful for something at last. The thing that had helped sobriety to stick this time hadn’t been the rehab, individual therapy or group therapy – it had been the thrill he had got from successfully investigating the case; finding evidence no-one else had been able to find and presenting it to the officers attempting to prosecute the case. Sherlock knew that he wouldn’t have the opportunity to do it again if he kept getting high, and besides, the thrill from cocaine didn’t come anywhere close.

On their return to London, Sherlock had stayed in touch with Mrs Hudson, and after the FBI had determined exactly how much of her late husband’s estate she could inherit, Mrs Hudson had discovered she had just about enough money to buy a property on Baker Street, and promptly offered a flat to Sherlock at a discounted rate. Even at a discounted rate, however, London was still pricy, and Sherlock had mentioned to Mike Stamford that he needed to find a flatmate. And that was where the confusion had started.

Mike had brought a seemingly ordinary Omega man round to Bart’s, a man with an ordinary name, who turned out to be the most fascinating person Sherlock had ever encountered. His ability to know exactly when Sherlock should be cajoled into doing something and when he should be left alone was uncanny. His skill in preparing a meal that Sherlock would not only eat, but also desire, was unheard of. Sherlock found himself drawn more and more to John, wanting to be wherever he was, and miserable when he left to go to work at the clinic. Sherlock didn’t understand it at all; he had met any number of ordinary people and not been affected by them – other than to be extremely annoyed by them, that was. He had met numerous Omegas of both sexes, male and female, and had never felt the urge to get as physically close to them as it was possible to be, yet with John, Sherlock’s desire to be close was so strong that he sometimes felt as though climbing inside the other man’s skin wouldn’t be enough.

Sherlock’s initial reaction was confusion, then curiosity, then fear and frustration. He had managed for over thirty years to remain removed from the messy world of procreation, and within a few days of meeting his new flatmate, Sherlock was beginning to find his transport was rebelling against him. He couldn’t explain why he detested allowing John to leave the flat, the mere thought of him out on the streets of London by himself was repellant to Sherlock. Almost every day now he was waking with a hot and hard erection, willing them away was getting more and more difficult; he had even had to resort to wanking in the shower on a few occasions, after John had left the flat. He had finally begged Mycroft to find him something to do out of the country so he could get a few days’ relief, and that was when John’s first heat had come on. Mycroft, of course, had taken advantage of Sherlock’s begging and spun it in such a way that Sherlock now owed him another couple of favours, never mind that he had solved a particularly thorny problem for him.

Sherlock didn’t know what he was going to do if his willpower failed him and he gave in to his carnal urges – and it looked more and more like that was a possibility. John was the only person who had made it past a week as his flatmate, and Sherlock couldn’t imagine what life would be like without him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get closer, wanting to spend all their time together, but not admitting it to themselves, let alone each other. Then Mycroft calls in one of his favours, and sends Sherlock away for a few days... When he gets back, the stress has sent John into heat...Can Sherlock resist his siren's call?

The next couple of months passed with neither man admitting to himself the strength of his desire to be with the other. John still left to work at the clinic, although he didn’t mention to Sherlock that he had greatly reduced the number of hours he worked, and Sherlock pretended not to notice. For his part, Sherlock had decreed that the money earned from private cases should be split between the two of them. When John protested, saying that Sherlock put far more work into them than he did, they negotiated, finally agreeing that their living expenses – rent, food, utilities and cab fares - should be taken from the case money, with the remainder being Sherlock’s to spend as he liked, and John should use his wages from the clinic for his own personal expenses. That was what had allowed John to reduce the amount of hours he worked without being financially penalised, which pleased both of the men, although neither of them said so.

John also found himself growing not only more willing to drop everything and run after Sherlock at any time of the night or day, but actively desiring to do so, providing he could just _be_ with Sherlock. John made a point of kicking up a fuss and objecting whenever Sherlock burst into his room and dragged him out of bed before the sun had even come up so that Sherlock wouldn’t realise quite _how desperate_ John was to spend time with him, but he knew in his heart of hearts that he was more than willing to follow Sherlock anywhere he wanted to go. The days when Sherlock left and John couldn’t follow him because he was due at the clinic left them both feeling out of sorts. Greg found that Sherlock was even more difficult to deal with on the days that John didn’t accompany him than he had been before John had come into his life, and so he began to text John to see if he was available _before_ texting Sherlock whenever he needed the detective’s input. If John’s reply meant Greg would have to put up with Sherlock on his own, he made sure the case was at least an eight, or failing that, he just waited for John to be free.

Sherlock found that he spent more time conducting trivial experiments at his microscope that he wouldn’t have contemplated six months previously, purely for the pleasure of spending time close to John. He would have justified them as the necessity of keeping his databases up to date if he’d been confronted, but thankfully John didn’t seem to think anything was unusual. Sherlock noticed that John spent more time doing paperwork at the kitchen table, “there’s too much junk on the table in the sitting room, Sherlock, you don’t mind, do you?” or preparing dinners that seemed to require long and complicated recipes.

They went along quite happily in this way for another couple of months, spending days either desperate to get back to one another or cosy in their kitchen, and nights curled up on the sofa watching crap telly. John privately admitted to himself that he couldn’t imagine wanting to find someone to share his heat with anymore, the thought of bringing someone back who wasn’t Sherlock… Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Sherlock had never been particularly interested in finding a mate, asexual would have been his classification of himself for the majority of his life, and he tried to convince himself that nothing had changed on that score. If he found himself cosied up on the sofa most evenings with just a hairsbreadth of space between himself and John, that was just the consequences of trying to make sure his acceptable flatmate wouldn’t decide to leave due to Sherlock’s unreasonable behaviour. Oh, and he had to sit close because of the position of the telly…

John had decided Sherlock should be brought up to speed with the whole of Doctor Who, right from the very beginning. That meant all six hundred and ninety five episodes that comprised the original series, and then starting on the rebooted series after that. Sherlock didn’t really enjoy the older series, but he _did_ enjoy spending time with John, and putting up with the strange men with a big blue box was a small price to pay. He was willing to admit that he didn’t mind too much watching the little Scottish man pretending not to be Scottish, and he and John had many discussions about why _he_ pretended to be English when the _lanky_ Scottish one didn’t.

Then Mycroft had called in one of the top-secret-clearance favours Sherlock owed him, and sent him off to Derbyshire for three days, and when Sherlock returned, all hell had broken loose. Partially caused by the stress of being away from Sherlock for so long, John’s next heat had come on unexpectedly early again, and he was in the throes when Sherlock had returned. Sherlock had run himself ragged trying to get the case solved as quickly as possible so he could return home to John. Being run down, he had caught a cold whilst in the close quarters of the offices he’d been working from, and had come home bunged up and full of aches. Consequently, his powers of observation had been a little off, and he had not noticed anything was amiss until he had made it up the stairs, unlocked the door to the flat and entered. He had vaguely registered the small heap of food and water on the kitchen table, and John’s jumper discarded halfway up the stairs to his room before the urge to be where John was _right now_ had hit him so strongly that his knees had almost buckled. He had raced up the stairs to John’s room, cold forgotten, and finding the door firmly locked had shoved and rattled at it, trying to get in.

“John!” he shouted, banging on the door.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice had come weakly from the other side of the door. “Oh Sherlock, please!” At the sound of his voice, Sherlock had started to shoulder barge the door, desperately trying to get through. “Please Sherlock, I need you, it hurts so much!” Sherlock redoubled his efforts, calling John’s name as he did, and the lock began to splinter. He finally managed to burst through, to discover John writhing naked in his bed, a toy in one hand, but with his gun in the other, firmly trained on the door. As soon as John recognised Sherlock, he dropped the gun to the floor, and moaned. “Please, Sherlock, I need you, nothing’s helping!”

“What do you need, John?” Sherlock dropped to his knees in the doorway, hands fisted in his curls, desperate to look after his Omega, but with the rational part of his mind reminding him that John wasn’t _really_ his.

John looked over at Sherlock with tears in his eyes. “Please, Sherlock, I need your knot, just this one time! Please help me!”

Sherlock groaned, shaking with the effort of staying still. “You say that now John, but what about the risk?”

Tears leaked from John’s eyes, and it was all Sherlock could do to stay still, almost vibrating on the floor. “There won’t be any risk, Sherlock, I’ve never had a proper heat! If my friendship means anything to you at all, for God’s sake, please help me!”

At his words, Sherlock leapt across the room, tearing his clothes off as he went. “Are you sure?” he growled, visibly fighting the urge to just _take_.

“Yes, yes, _please_ Sherlock!” John wailed, and ripping the toy out of John’s hand, Sherlock buried himself deeply inside John’s slick channel. It was as though a veil had come down between Sherlock and the rest of the world; the only thought in his head was of the Omega underneath him.

“Oh, my beautiful Omega, yes, that’s what you need, isn’t it? My knot, that’s the only thing that will help, take it, take everything…” As he spoke, Sherlock rutted harder and harder into John, whose eyes had fluttered shut as an expression of pure bliss had fallen over his face. Sherlock felt the tingling at the base of his cock that signified his knot was almost fully formed, and with one almighty thrust, he shoved it past John’s rim, setting off John’s orgasm. The feel of John’s internal muscles clenching tightly against his cock sparked Sherlock’s own orgasm, and he pushed tightly up against John, trying to deposit his seed as far up inside John’s channel as he could, feet slipping and sliding against the sheets with his effort to push himself as far inside John as he could.

Once Sherlock had begun to come back to himself a little more, he started to realise exactly what had just happened – he had just fucked his Omega flatmate. He, Sherlock, who had never had sex with _anyone_ before, had not only fucked, but also _knotted_ John. Feeling ashamed of giving in to his baser instincts, he tried to pull away, but was locked in place by his knot. The tug on his rim made John orgasm again, moaning pitifully, and Sherlock couldn’t help but thrust hard inside him again as the squeeze of John’s muscles forced another orgasm from him. The piteous moan John let out at the feel of it had Sherlock gathering the smaller man up in his arms and crooning softly in his ear. As he did so, Sherlock became aware of a warm feeling spreading throughout his chest, a feeling of what he could only describe as contentment. Sherlock felt confused, he had never felt so warm and snuggly, and he wasn’t sure where it was coming from.

John, wrapped up tight in Sherlock’s arms, felt warm and contented, the unrelenting ache had been relieved – for now… Suddenly he began to feel confused, and then he felt _an entirely separate and distinct feeling of confusion_ – and that was when the panic hit him.

“John, stop panicking,” Sherlock said, in a voice that sounded as though he was on the verge of panic himself. “You’re feeling confused, correct? But you _were_ feeling warm? Snuggly?” John could almost hear the contempt dripping from Sherlock’s voice as he said the last word, and strangely, that helped to bring his panic levels down a little.

“Yes, but… how did you know?” John asked, part of the confusion clearing a little.

“I know because I can feel it. I don’t know how, John, but somehow it’s as though we’re bonded.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of John's heat, Sherlock has a number of realisations that he's not prepared for... and John finds Sherlock's protective Alpha instincts kicking in...

Chapter Six

Three days later, John and Sherlock lay, drained, in John’s bed, in his room upstairs. Three days of relentless fucking, of John mindlessly presenting his slick hole for Sherlock to slide his cock into; three days of John whimpering as he rammed himself mindlessly down on Sherlock’s cock when Sherlock had virtually passed out from exhaustion. Three days of John begging Sherlock to knot him; of Sherlock taking John in his arms, hand feeding him morsels of food and sips of water to try and keep his strength up before the next urge of _need_ hit them both.

John had never before felt anything like it. He had felt need before, certainly, when his pseudo heats had kicked in and he had felt desperate to be filled, but he realised now that they had been nothing in comparison to the real thing. 

John’s heats had steadily been getting stronger as he had lived with Sherlock, but he had attributed that to the fact that he was an unbonded Omega, living with an unbonded Alpha, as Sherlock had suggested. John had never lived with an Alpha before, other than when he had lived at home with his parents, so he naturally assumed that Sherlock was right; after all, he hadn’t yet known him to be wrong. By the time John had presented as Omega, Harry had already moved out, going off to uni, where she had met Clara, and she had never moved back home. Although John’s dad was an Alpha, she had been bonded to his mum, so it hadn’t been an issue for John. When Sherlock had sunk his cock into John though, it was as if a switch had been flicked inside him, and his heat had exploded. John had been unable to go more than about twenty minutes at a time before he was reduced to sobbing and begging for Sherlock’s knot, and Sherlock had been hard for almost the entire time. 

Once the compulsion had died down, they had both collapsed in John’s bed, and slept for eight hours straight; even Sherlock, whose sleeping habits could never be called anything as pedestrian as a pattern. John had slept better than he ever had in his life, not even a sniff of the nightmares that had plagued him on a regular basis, and even sharing a bed for the first time had felt right. John had awoken first, feeling hungry and thirsty. He had started to get used to the strange doubling feeling of his emotions, and as Sherlock was currently radiating more exhaustion than hunger, John had decided to leave him asleep in ~~their~~ his bed while he got up and prepared some food for them.

That was a strange realisation; after only three days, John had started to think of himself and Sherlock as a couple, and his bed as theirs. He wondered when that had happened, as he padded down the stairs to the kitchen, yawning as he went, and flicked the kettle on. Absentmindedly he took down a couple of cups from the cupboard, and started to prepare the tea, considering the events of the last few days. Could he and Sherlock be bonded? How? He was sure they hadn’t completed the bonding ritual, but if he thought about it, he realised that he didn’t entirely recall the last three days, apart from the _want_ and the _need_ … 

Sherlock stretched and yawned, rolling over in his bed, eyes popping open when he got a noseful of John’s scent. He realised he was still in John’s bed, tutting to himself for not knowing immediately because of the feel of John’s inferior sheets. He inhaled, drawing John’s scent deep inside his lungs, feeling the love he had for the other man – Shit, where had _that_ come from? Love? From the kitchen, Sherlock heard the sound of a teaspoon hitting the floor, and then John’s feet were pounding up the stairs. He burst into the room, scanning Sherlock’s face desperately. “Sherlock? What is it, are you okay?!”

Sherlock swallowed, breathing deeply, and deliberately tamping down on the feeling threatening to overwhelm him. “I’m fine John, just wondering where you were… You could have brought the tea up with you.”

John huffed a breath of air from his mouth. “You git, you can make it next time!” and he headed back down the stairs, shaking his head. A minute or so later, Sherlock heard the distinctive sound of the toaster – it had made an odd noise ever since Sherlock had dismantled and reassembled it claiming he had made it more efficient - and soon after, the smell of toasting bread began to drift up the stairs. Typical John, always feeding him… Sherlock wondered idly if it would get worse now they were bonded, and that reminded him that he hadn’t yet worked out how the bonding had happened. He sat himself up, took a deep breath, and sank into his mind palace.

John felt the remaining traces of Sherlock’s panic dissipate. He knew he wasn’t being told the whole story, but he also knew it was better to let Sherlock come to him in his own time, rather than push him to get the truth. He grabbed a tea tray then ran the hottest water he could stand and scrubbed at a couple of cups, glasses, side plates and a knife – he didn’t trust that they had remained clean since the last time he’d got stuck with the washing up.

When John stepped back into the room, carrying a tray with tea, toast, and a couple of glasses of water, Sherlock was sitting up against the headboard, deep inside his mind palace, reviewing everything he knew about bonding. John set the tray on the bedside table, and set the plate with Sherlock’s toast on in his lap. He had found that if he left food close to Sherlock when his mind was occupied, he could usually get him to consume something without realising it. John settled back into the bed, drawing the duvet up over his lap. He turned to look at Sherlock, and found a bite-sized piece of toast in front of his mouth, Sherlock pushing it insistently towards him. He had little choice but to open his mouth and take it for fear that Sherlock might accidentally shove it up his nose, so he did, his lips brushing Sherlock’s fingers. “Mmff, Sherlock, I’ve got some,” John said when he’d swallowed and found Sherlock was holding another piece of toast under his nose, but even as he spoke, John realised it was pointless as Sherlock was on an entirely different plane. He sighed, and sat back, resigned to being fed his breakfast.

Ten minutes later, John had eaten all of Sherlock’s toast, and had managed to finally rouse him from his mind palace by the simple expedient of flicking water at him until he emerged. “John? You have to eat your toast,” Sherlock said, picking up the plate and thrusting it at John.

“I’ve already eaten, you just fed me _your_ toast,” John replied, with an amused smile on his lips. As Sherlock looked at him, he could see the telltale crumbs dotted over John’s chest that confirmed he had, in fact, eaten.

“I fed you?” he said, in a tone of disbelief, but even as he spoke, Sherlock could feel the contentment radiating from John – the kind of contentment that only came from an Omega who had been provided for by his Alpha.

John pushed the plate back in Sherlock’s direction. “Yes, Sherlock, you did. You need to eat too; you expended rather a lot of energy the last few days. What was that all about, anyway? You said it was as though we were bonded, how can that have happened? All we did was have sex… Rather a lot of sex, admittedly… Rather a lot of really good sex…” John trailed off, then abruptly shook himself, blinking rapidly, as though bringing himself back to the present.

“You’re a doctor, you know the bonding process, it takes more than good sex to do it, no matter how much you have. I must have bitten you at some point over the last few days, somehow…”

John shifted round, showing his neck to Sherlock. “Nope, or I’d be sore, there would be a mark, and it would have bled too.”

Sherlock ran his fingers gently over John’s bonding gland, feeling the almost imperceptible dents there. “You _do_ have a mark, John,” he said, rubbing gently at the gland, his sensitive fingertips mapping the shape of the indentations. They were small, and not terribly deep, but they were there. Something began to itch, deep in Sherlock’s mind palace; something about the shape of the indentations was familiar. He began to rub absently at the marks, his eyes defocused, and flicking rapidly from side to side as he flicked through his mind palace.

“What, on my bondy land?” giggled John, bringing his hand up to rub at it too. At his words, Sherlock froze, his mind racing.

“Your what, John?” he asked slowly.

“Sorry, family joke from when I was a kid, I meant my bonding gland.”

Sherlock turned slowly, starting to realise why the pattern of indentations was so familiar, and looking at John with an expression of combined disbelief and amazement. John began to feel a pervading sense of realisation that he knew was not coming from him. “Tell me, John, did you have a friend called William when you were a little boy?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John talk about their shared past, and start to deal with the consequences of their bonding...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed there are a couple of additional tags... And that this is the last chapter. I'm sorry, really I am... You might also have noticed this is now the first in a series - I promise this will not be the end for Sherlock and John! #sorrynotsorry

John sat on his chair in the living room, a rather gormless look on his face if he was honest. Sherlock had explained that his _full_ name was William Sherlock Scott Holmes - and that he was the little boy John had played with as a small child. As they had talked, John had remembered that fateful day in the tree, telling Sherlock about his Auntie Sam and her ‘bondy land’, remembering that was where his family in-joke had started. He remembered Sherlock biting down, the sharp pain, and then the taste of Sherlock’s skin on his tongue. He remembered falling from the tree, the row when he had returned home, and then meeting Mike Stamford and discovering rugby when he returned to school a couple of days later. John was a little dismayed to realise he hadn’t thought of his best friend for years. For his own part, Sherlock had told John about getting home and packing for school; about the joys of exploring the old school buildings by himself in the first few days he had been there, and how that had served him well when his classmates had discovered his abrasive personality – Sherlock had needed somewhere he could go and be alone. John had wanted to weep at the loneliness Sherlock had described; he remembered William as such an outgoing child, full of fun and easy smiles, and his heart nearly broke at the thought that the cruelty of his classmates had all but wiped it out of him.

John had immediately started to research on his laptop; looking at everything to do with bonding, both research from the UK and from abroad. He looked at the processes – they seemed straightforward enough, the Alpha bit the Omega on the bonding gland, which released certain chemicals into the Omega’s bloodstream. The bite was consummated by sex, as it released other neurochemicals into the Omega’s bloodstream which bound both with each other, and with the Omega’s brain structures, and Bob was your uncle. He looked at research on the specifics of the neurochemicals involved, to see what the most recent thinking had to say on delayed consummation of a bond bite. He discovered that mostly for bonding to take place, the bite had to occur during sex. However, in a few cases, it hadn’t been necessary for the bite and the sex to happen at the same time, but as long as the bite came first, a gap of a couple of hours had resulted in bonding. As he had continued to read, John had discovered that the gap itself was rare enough, but nowhere in any of the literature had there been a gap anywhere near as long as the one between Sherlock and John’s bite and the sex.

“Well I’ve done some research Sherlock, everything I’ve looked at suggests we _are_ bonded, although I don’t know how it’s happened, considering how long it’s been since we bit each other.” He turned the laptop towards Sherlock, who glanced over the page briefly, then resumed staring off into space again. John began to feel a little discomfited, but wasn’t sure if he was feeling it or if Sherlock was. Eventually he shut the laptop down, tucking it out of the way under his chair. He got up, clearing his throat, and said, “I’m just off to have a shower and get ready, okay, Sherlock?” At this, Sherlock’s head whipped round, and he glared at John.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he spat out, fixing John with a piercing gaze.

“Work, Sherlock, where do you think? I’ve been out for three days, Sarah texted me while you were in your mind palace. Jason’s gone home ill so they’re short this afternoon and need my help.” Sherlock leapt out of his seat, gripping John’s wrist, a look of anguish on his face.

“You can’t leave me, John, you just can’t!” John started to feel Sherlock’s anxiety ramping up at the thought of him leaving for work, and his own starting to join it. He pushed it down, knowing he had to make a stand now or forever be a typical Omega; only ever leaving the house if he was accompanied, expected to serve his Alpha – and he knew he would go insane if that were ever to happen.

“I can leave you Sherlock, and I’m going to. And I’m going to go to work, and I’m going to do my job, and then I’m going to come home again. We’ll get a takeaway, and watch crap telly, and everything will be fine, because _I’m still the same person I was last week_.” He firmly removed his wrist from Sherlock’s hand, and gave him a gentle smile. “Army doctor, remember?” He turned away and walked to his bedroom to grab some clean clothes, then headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes later, and John was leaving the flat. He started to walk to the Tube station, glancing at the reflections in the windows of the buildings he passed as he walked. A few minutes later, he saw what he was looking for – Sherlock, skulking along behind him, trying his best to be unobtrusive but so anxious to stay with John that he was not doing a good job. John smiled a little to himself; it was typical of Sherlock to try to manipulate the situation to his own ends. John was so caught up in surreptitiously watching Sherlock that he almost missed what was happening right in front of him. There was a short scuffle and suddenly a woman was shouting “stop him, he’s got my handbag!”

John turned to look at what was happening, and was nearly knocked over by a skinny young man in dirty jeans and a hoodie, running past holding a large brown leather handbag. John took a moment to assess the situation, then turned and set off in pursuit of the skinny youth. It only took a few steps before he was within reach, and he rugby tackled the thief to the ground. The woman came running up behind him, babbling her thanks to John.

“I don’t mean to be funny or anything, but have you got some ID in the bag before I let you run off with it?” John asked her with a cheeky smile. A few minutes later, she had shown him the picture on her driving licence from her purse, retrieved her mobile phone and was calling the police. The officers who attended were a couple of the lads who worked with Greg on a regular basis, and so they were familiar with John from when he had attended crime scenes with Sherlock. He agreed to pop into Scotland Yard and give a statement the next day, and left them dealing with the incident.

John turned around to where he knew Sherlock was watching him, and cocked his head, arms folded. Sherlock came forward, a little sheepishly, to stand in front of John. “Well?” John asked. “Are you satisfied that I haven’t turned into a useless Omega wimp just because we’re bonded? Can I go to work without you following me now?”

Sherlock had the grace to drop his gaze as he mumbled something John didn’t catch.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I just don’t want to be away from you… Can I at least walk with you to work? And walk you home again after work?” John laughed, shaking his head.

“Okay Sherlock, you can come with me to work, but don’t go making a fuss, I’ll be perfectly fine. Probably even more now than I was last week, since I’m bonded to you, my Alpha.” Sherlock smiled a little at his words, and the two of them set off again. John smiled privately to himself when Sherlock’s hand crept into his, and they completed the journey to the Tube station hand in hand.

*****

John sat back in his chair as the door closed behind his last patient, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. It had been a long shift; the bug that had sent Jason home that morning had resulted in a steady stream of patients through his door. He sighed, and started to enter the notes into his computer for the last patient, jumping when there was a knock at the door. He didn’t think he had missed anyone, but it had been such a long day and he had completely lost track of where he was. He assumed it was one of the receptionists, popping in with requests for signatures on prescriptions, or medical insurance forms for completion or hopefully even just the news that he could go home and the new computer system would magically do all the paperwork by itself. He was surprised when he called “come in!” and Sherlock’s face appeared around the door, and his unique scent hit John full force. John realised that he’d been away from Sherlock’s scent all afternoon, and it was all the stronger for that.

“Sherlock!” John’s face lit up with a brilliant smile, and he leapt out of his chair to meet Sherlock in the centre of the room, inhaling his scent deeply. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you, John,” John could hear and feel the self-contempt in Sherlock’s voice; the great detective did not have feelings for other people, “and I couldn’t wait for you any longer.”

“Perhaps you should have gone home to wait,” John suggested with a small smile. Sherlock at least had the grace to blush a little, but John continued to smile; he didn’t know what Sherlock had spent all afternoon doing, but he hadn’t caused any trouble. John was secretly pleased that Sherlock had stayed around, he didn’t know how he would have coped being so far from his Alpha for so long this early on in their bond; having Sherlock close had undoubtedly made things easier for John, even if they hadn’t been physically in the same room. Sherlock moved in to kiss John, his eyes fluttering closed, and John gripped the lapels of his coat in his hands, pulling the taller man towards him and leaning into the kiss. Sherlock stopped abruptly, and bent forwards, tucking his nose under John’s jaw, inhaling deeply. John jerked his head back as Sherlock’s hair tickled his nose.

“Sherlock!” he giggled, taking Sherlock’s face in his hands and trying to lift it so he could kiss the Cupid’s bow lips. Sherlock huffed impatiently, and pulled out of John’s grasp, tucking his nose under John’s jaw again. John decided it was easier just to let Sherlock scent him; obviously it was some kind of Alpha thing, re-establishing the connection or something of that ilk. At last, Sherlock appeared to be finished, and slowly pulled back, away from John. His eyes were wide, and John started to get a confusing combination of emotions coming through from him – fear, awe and elation. What the hell was happening?

Sherlock pushed John back down into his chair, agitation joining the other emotions John was feeling. “Sherlock? What is it? What’s wrong?” By now, Sherlock was on his knees between John’s thighs, one hand cradling his back, the other splayed across his stomach.

“John, it’s your… I can… John, your scent has changed… You’re pregnant…”


End file.
